Heads Or Tails
by x Be My Muse
Summary: A simple coin toss at a crime scene causes one of the CSIs to be shot.
1. Heads Or Tails

Title: Heads Or Tails Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters. Although I wish I could. Notes: Read and review. Please.  
  
Catherine and I reached the scene at the same time as Warrick. "What do we have?" Catherine asked.  
  
"Homicide. 27 year old Kristin Way. Stabbed in her apartment, three times in the chest. Found by her landlord, Jim Katz, She hasn't paid the rent in about three months. He came in and found her." He looked up from the case notes and sighed. "The officers secured the place. Ready to go in?"  
  
As we stepped across the threshold, I was immediately hit by the sharp odor of a decomposed body. In the middle of the room, the victim lay dead, caked in a layer of dried blood. The two, deep stab wounds in her chest were clearly evident, even from across the room. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, and I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away from the body.  
  
"You okay?" Catherine asked, her mother instincts kicking in. I nodded a forced a smile.  
  
"Yeah, it's just the smell." I forced a laugh. "You never get used to it." She laughed and stepped forward into the room, surveying the scene.  
  
Warrick took a step towards the body and put down his silver case kit. "I'll check the body for trace evidence. Why don't you two go check out the other rooms in the apartment. Look for signs of a struggle. You know the routine."  
  
We looked at each other and nodded. There were only three other rooms in the apartment. The kitchen was a small area in the corner of the living room, the room where the victim was found. The only two other rooms were the bathroom and the bedroom.  
  
"I get the bedroom," Catherine called out.  
  
"No way," I said. "Why don't we flip for it?"  
  
"What? Are you guys back in third grade now?" Warrick asked, amused.  
  
We ignored him. Catherine pulled out a quarter. "Would you like to do the honors?"  
  
"Thank you," I said, laughing as I snatched the coin from her outstretched hand. "Heads or tails?"  
  
She thought for a second. "Tails."  
  
I flipped the coin into the air, my hand ready and waiting to catch it. The coin landed back on my hand. We both look down at the result. "Heads," I said, with a smile.  
  
"Fine," she replied, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Wish me luck," she joked, heading into the bathroom.  
  
I laughed to myself and entered the bedroom. I pulled my gloves on and began surveying the room. I began with the bed, checking initially for seminal fluid. I had only just bent over to look when a gunshot jolted me out of my thoughts.  
  
"Catherine," I heard Warrick cry out. I dropped everything and ran into the bathroom. On the floor, Catherine lay, barely moving, a bullet lodged in her right thigh.  
  
"Oh, God, Catherine," I exclaimed, kneeling by her side.  
  
Warrick was already on the phone calling for help. A team of officers was filling in the small apartment.  
  
I felt myself grow dizzy. The last thing that I noticed before losing consciousness was the open window. 


	2. Lindsay's Plea

The bright lights of the police cars assaulted my sore eyes. My head was pounding, and my mind was fuzzy. I couldn't remember anything.  
  
Warrick was kneeling over me. "Sara, are you ok?" What happened? I wracked my brain trying to remember where I was and what had happened, but the thoughts would not come to me.  
  
"What happened?" I asked, sitting up. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I dropped my head into my hands, trying desperately to stop the pounding of my tired head. But not before catching sight of the crime scene.  
  
In one horrible minute, all memories from the night came flooding back to me. A young woman was found stabbed in her apartment. Catherine, Warrick, and I went inside. Cath and I flipped a coin; she got the bathroom, I got the bedroom. There was a gunshot. I ran in. Catherine was lying on the floor. There was blood. Her blood. Lots of blood.  
  
I gasped and turned me head, hot bile burning my throat. I vomited until I began dry heaving and then sat up. "Catherine?" I cried worriedly, turning to Warrick. "Is Catherine okay?"  
  
He looked away uneasily. "They took her to the hospital. Grissom and Nick just got there. She's in a coma."  
  
"I want to go see her," I said shakily.  
  
He shook his head. "Grissom asked that I take you home right away. You can go see her tomorrow." I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop me. "Sara, don't argue with him. You need some rest. Tomorrow, one of us will pick you up and take you to see her."  
  
"My car," I remembered. "I left it at CSI headquarters."  
  
He thought for a moment. "I'll have someone bring it by your apartment sometime tomorrow." He took my arm and helped me to my feet. "Now let me take you home."  
  
When we reached my apartment, I allowed him to help me to the front door. "One of us, either Nick or myself, will pick you up tomorrow morning to take you to the hospital. If you want to go, I mean." I nodded my head in agreement and fumbled with my key in the lock.  
  
"Will you be okay by yourself tonight?" Warrick asked worriedly.  
  
"Yeah," I said quickly. "I'll be fine." I pushed the door open and stepped inside. "I'll see you tomorrow," I added, firmly closing the door before he could offer any more protestations. Finally feeling the exhaustion of the day's events, I passed out on the couch, still fully dressed,  
  
The aroma of fresh coffee woke me from my fitful sleep. I sat up slowly, rubbing my pounding head. "You want some coffee?" Nick asked, thrusting a cup into my outstretched hand.  
  
I gratefully gulped the hot liquid down, relishing the feel of it on my parched throat. When the mug was empty, I placed it on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. I ran a hand through my brown hair and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.  
  
"Wow, Sidle, you look like shit," Nick commented.  
  
"Gee, thanks," I muttered sarcastically.  
  
"Why don't you shower and then we'll head on over to visit Catherine," he suggested.  
  
"How is she?" I asked seriously.  
  
"She's in a coma."  
  
I nodded, tears burning my eyes. "I'm gonna go shower. Make yourself at home."  
  
After I had cleaned myself up, Nick drove me over to the hospital. He pulled up to the front. "She's in room 324," he told me. "I have to park the car, so I'll just meet you up there."  
  
I took a deep breathe and then entered the hospital. The stark white brightness of the hospital hallway burned my eyes as I walked through the doors. "Excuse me," I said, catching the attention of the receptionist. "My name's Sara Sidle. I'm here to visit Catherine Willows, room 324." I showed her my CSI identification.  
  
She nodded and pointed me in the correct direction. I found the room easily. It was the only one in the hallway that was filled with the scent of fresh flowers. I was preparing to enter the room when the quiet voice of a child filled my ears.  
  
I peered through the open doorway and saw Lindsey sitting in a chair by the hospital bed, holding Catherine's hand in her own. "Mommy," I heard her small, brittle voice whisper. "Mommy, please wake up. I need you. I already had Daddy die. I don't want to have you die too, Mommy." I watched as the tears streamed down her small face. She bent down and buried her face in Catherine's shoulder. Sobs shook her small, ten-year-old body.  
  
I wanted so badly to rush in, to pull her into my arms and tell her that everything would be okay. But I couldn't. Because I wasn't sure if it would be. I turned away from the door, my own tears now flowing freely. 


	3. A Way Out

"Thanks for the ride, Nick," I said, getting out of the car at CSI headquarters.  
  
"No problem," he replied in his Southern drawl.  
  
We entered the break room to find Grissom impatiently waiting to hand out assignments. "It's about time," Warrick muttered, slapping Nick on the back. He nodded a hello to me. We all turned expectantly to Grissom.  
  
"Sara, Warrick, your case has been transferred to Ecklie's crew because of personal involvement. Warrick, you're working with Nick on a DB out in the desert." He handed the case notes to Nick before turning his attention to me. "Sara, I need to speak to you in my office." He turned and headed down the hallway toward his office.  
  
Warrick shot me a sympathetic look, and Nick mouthed "good luck." I entered Grissom's office and found him already seated behind his desk, looking through a stack of papers. I took the seat across from him.  
  
He took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. Placing them back on his face, he looked up and sighed. "Sara, I'm going to have to place you on leave." I opened my mouth to protest, but he rushed on before I could get a word out. "I'm sorry, but due to your personal involvement in the case yesterday, I really have to. Besides, it would give you a few days to catch up on your sleep."  
  
"Fine," I shot out, jumping to my feet and turning to walk away.  
  
"Sara," he called. I spun around to face him, knowing what he was going to say next. I already had my gun and ID in hand to give to him. "I'm not the bad guy here, Sara," he said softly, taking the items from my outstretched hand. "Now go home and get some rest."  
  
I angrily turned my key in the ignition, and the engine purred to life. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and somehow found the strength to drive home.  
  
As I opened the front door of my apartment, I had to stifle a yawn. "Well," I said aloud to myself, "Grissom was right about something. I do need me sleep."  
  
I changed into a pair of sweats and an over-sized sweatshirt and climbed under the covers. I was exhausted, but I couldn't stop the thoughts that were swirling around in my mind.  
  
I kept hearing Lindsey's small, tear-filled voice, pleading with her mother to wake up. I kept thinking that it should have been me lying in that cold hospital bed, not Catherine. Catherine has so many reasons to live. I don't.  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to force the voices out of my mind. It wasn't my fault that Catherine got shot. But it should have been you, a voice in my head said. You should be the one lying in a hospital bed, in a coma. Hanging onto life by a thread  
  
I bolted upright, suddenly remembering the Valium that I kept in the medicine cabinet. I tossed two pills into my mouth and swallowed them dry. I dragged them back into my bedroom with me and placed them on my bedside table.  
  
I closed my eyes again, praying for sleep to come. But the voices wouldn't stop. I grabbed the pill bottle, downing four more pills. "God, just make the voices stop," I cried out, covering my ears, and grabbing a few more pills. In a few more seconds, the pill bottle was empty. "Dammit," I cursed, throwing the bottle against the bedroom wall.  
  
The phone began ringing, but my legs were feeling too weak to carry me to it. A sharp pain split through my stomach, and my vision became blurry. I gasped for breath, and my heart felt like it would break out of my chest. The phone started ringing again. I screamed. The pain in my stomach was getting worse, and my head was pounding.  
  
A loud banging came from my front door. "Sara," I heard Nick call. "Sara, are you in there." He fumbled with the spare key I gave him and then pushed the door open. "Sara," he called again. He rushed through the apartment.  
  
I tried to call out to him, but my mouth had stopped working. I could hear my heart pounding in my head, and the pounding was starting to block out the shrieking of my conscience. I could no longer hear Lindsey's crying voice, or the report of the gun shooting Catherine. "I'm free," I whispered.  
  
"Oh, God, Sara, what happened?" Nick cried out, running into the room. He rushed to my side and felt my pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief and then grabbed the phone. "Hold on, Sara, it'll be OK." He grabbed the phone and jabbed in 911. 


	4. Dear Journal

My fingers ran over the smooth cover of the journal the hospital psychiatrist had given me. I flipped the book open and sat with my pen poised and ready over the front page.  
  
When Dr. Jenkins gave the journal to me and gave me an assignment to write in it at least twice a week, I had thought that it would be easy. Never mind the fact that I had never in my life kept a journal before.  
  
When the doctor gave me the journal, with its hard, blue cover, and ivory pages, she had asked me to write down everything that I was feeling, especially in regards to the Catherine incident. That's what everyone was calling it now: "the incident."  
  
But it wasn't an incident; it was an attempted murder. An attempted murder that could have been prevented if only I had offered to go into the bathroom in Catherine's place.  
  
It was over a week since I had heard Lindsay's tearful voice pleading with her mother to live. That voice haunted me. It was with me during the day, when I drank my daily cup of coffee, while I read the newspaper. And it was still there every night, waiting for me when I lay in bed, praying for sleep to come and pull me out of its grasps.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I lowered the pen to the notebook paper.  
  
Dear Journal,  
  
I was never a religious person. My mother stopped taking me to church when I was only three or four, and my father was an atheist. So now, in the midst of this terrible "incident," it amazes me that the only thing I can do is pray. But I don't pray that Catherine will wake up, or even that everything will be okay. I pray that I can go back in time and take Catherine's place.  
  
I know I told everyone that I took all of those pills accidentally, that I just wanted some sleep. But now I'm beginning to doubt that. I didn't do it consciously, I wasn't aware of my desire to die. But I'm beginning to believe that it was there, somewhere below the surface. And that scares me more than anything. 


	5. The Call

No match. The computer flashed the two words across the screen. "Shit," I cursed aloud.  
  
"No luck?" Grissom asked from behind me. I spun around in my chair and shook my head.  
  
"I guess I'll check the missing persons reports now," I replied with a sigh. I covered my mouth with one hand as I yawned, using the other hand to brush my wavy hair out of my face.  
  
Grissom smiled a crooked smile and headed me a cup of coffee. "I just thought you might need some caffeine."  
  
"Thanks, Gil," I said softly. It was my first week back from my leave of absence, and I was stuck doing computer work. Grissom wasn't allowing me to go back out in the field for another two weeks, and I was already bored to death.  
  
"You know what? Why don't you head home," Grissom suggested gently. "You look like you could use some sleep." Ever since "the incident," everyone had started treating me like I was a little kid. They were always afraid that I would push myself too hard, stretch myself too far. It makes me sick to see the looks of pity displayed on their faces. They try to hide it, but I see right through them.  
  
I spun back around to the computer, ignoring Grissom and trying my best to keep him from seeing the tears that were forming in my eyes.  
  
He placed his hand on my shoulder. I felt my body involuntarily tense under the soft pressure. "Just take it easy, Sara," he said quietly.  
  
I bit down on my lip to stop the shaking and prayed that I wouldn't break down. That was something that I just could not allow myself to do in front of him.  
  
Just then, his cell phone rang, saving me from having to face his unwanted sympathy.  
  
"Grissom," he answered as he left the room and went into the hallway.  
  
I turned my attention back to the task at hand. I typed in a few descriptive words and was met with a list of over one thousand missing persons in the area who fit the description. I sighed. This was going to be a long night.  
  
I heard Grissom reenter the room. "Sara?" I spun around. There was something different about the way he sounded.  
  
His blue-grey eyes were misted over with the sheen of unshed tears. "Grissom, what's wrong?" I asked, a wave of fear spreading over my body.  
  
He took a deep breath, removed his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and then returned them to his face before answering. "That was Catherine's doctor," he answered. 


	6. An UnPerfect Day

It was a perfect day for a funeral, if there is such a thing.  
  
The sky was gray and clouds hung ominously over our heads all throughout the morning. But the rain held off for a few hours. It didn't rain all during the morning, when I broke down while getting dressed. And it didn't rain when I first saw Lindsay enter the church, clinging to her aunt's hand and looking lost. And it didn't rain during the service, while the preacher spoke of Catherine's troubled past and her struggle to rise above the hard times and turn her life around.  
  
It didn't rain until we got to the cemetery. It wasn't until we all gathered in a small circle around her grave, a small group of us that only consisted of Catherine's immediate family and her coworkers. That's when the sky finally opened up.  
  
The rain fell down over us. It mingled with the pools of black mascara and tears that already raced down my face. They mixed together and landed on the ground in microscopic black pools of sorrow.  
  
Nick's hand on the small of my back brought me back to the moment. I looked up. The funeral was over, and everyone was heading back to their cars.  
  
"Are you ready to go, Sara?" Nick asked gently, steering me towards the street where my car was parked. I nodded.  
  
"Are you gonna stop by Cath's house?" Warrick asked, suddenly appearing by my side. It took me a moment to remember that Catherine's sister was greeting guests at Catherine's house.  
  
"I don't think so," I answered. "I'm gonna head home and get some sleep before shift tonight."  
  
The two men nodded thoughtfully as we reached my car. I said goodbye and got into the car, keeping the radio turned off. For the first time in a long time, I actually welcomed the silence.  
  
I was so lost in thought that I didn't realize where I was until I reached my final destination. Blinking in confusion I looked around. How did I end up in front of Catherine's house?  
  
I watched a thin line of people walking up the drive and into Catherine's house. Cath's sister, Janet stood by the door, greeting the mourners and collecting baskets of fruit and muffins and pastries.  
  
I sat there in my car watching for a few minutes before getting out of the car. I forced myself to walk up the driveway and into the house without stopping to think. I didn't want to chicken out of doing this.  
  
Janet opened the door right as I got there. "Hi," I said quietly. "I'm Sara Sidle. I work...worked...with Catherine."  
  
She smiled faintly and a thin layer of tears formed in her eyes. "I know who you are," she replied. "Catherine talked about you a lot. She really respected you."  
  
I blinked back tears from my own eyes. "I really respected her too," I answered quietly, trying so hard to steady the shaking of my voice. She motioned me further into the house.  
  
We stood in an awkward silence for a few moments. "So...how's Lindsay?" I asked.  
  
She covered her eyes with her hand and rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. She shrugged. "I guess she's taking it as well as possible. I don't know if it's completely sunken in yet. She still seems confused about it all, a little angry even."  
  
"That's normal," I said softly, looking down. "I mean, she only lost her father a few months ago. She's just confused and doesn't know what she's supposed to feel."  
  
She nodded and I saw her struggle against an onslaught of tears. "I just...I don't know what to say to her," she said shakily, finally giving in to the sobs. I put my arm around her and steered her to a chair, helping her sit down and handing her a box of tissues.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered, drying her eyes.  
  
I looked around. I saw Janet's son, Jeremy sitting in the corner of the room playing with a puzzle. I continued gazing around the room. I didn't see Lindsay. "Where's Lindsay?" I asked Janet.  
  
"I don't know," she whispered.  
  
I nodded, suddenly worried about the little girl that Catherine had left behind. I went upstairs and checked all of the rooms. Finding no sign of Lindsay, I decided to check outside.  
  
I slipped out the back door and went out to the backyard. I looked around. Finding no sign of her, I slipped down to my knees beside. The cold ground seeped through my stockings.  
  
I put my head in my hands and finally allowed myself to cry. "God, why did you do this?" I whispered, praying for the first time since I was a little girl. "Catherine has this beautiful, precious little girl that's been left behind. Why couldn't it have been me in the bathroom? Why couldn't I have been the one to get shot?" I took a deep breath and tilted my head up to the sky. The sun was out and was drying the tears on my face.  
  
I gasped and spun around as a hand fell upon my shoulder. My breath got in my throat. Lindsay stood there, tears streaming down her face. "It's not your fault," she whispered softly. And then she opened her arms and hugged me.  
  
The End 


End file.
